


getting to know you

by AnnaofAza



Series: with this ring (debt be paid) [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Introspection, Loneliness, M/M, The Mystery of Who Shiro is Continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26628223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Who is his husband? Surprisingly, for someone confined to the manor, Keith has a hard time investigating.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: with this ring (debt be paid) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752307
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88





	getting to know you

He tries to get to know his husband. 

When Keith’s alone, which is often, he pokes around the house, a seemingly easy task. Shiro doesn’t seem to know what to do with him outside the bed, and Keith can count on his head the conversations they’ve had—though they’re more of exchanges of _Did you sleep well?_ and _Mm-hm_. 

Already, he knows that Shiro will not answer any questions that matter, that Kolivan never seemed to ask. 

The facts are these: his name is Takashi Shirogane, he was a soldier, and he has two dead brothers. 

The bedroom—their bedroom—elicits only fragments: a closet of fine clothes, a dressing table with shaving cream and razors and a comb, a drawer full of white gloves. The library has books, not cardboard cutouts as he’s heard of rich folk doing, but there are no bookmarks, cornered pages, pencil marks within the pages. Maps and paintings and photographs hang from the wall, mainly of landscapes and animals and cities, not even a family portrait. Even the pantry gives no hint to his taste: does Shiro prefer salty over sweet, spicy over bland? 

The only indication of personality is a collection of bottles in the drink cart: rows and rows of dark liquid, and clear—the latter Keith knows is powerful enough to blind a man and made furtively under the cover of darkness. 

He tries to admire his husband. 

He's wealthy, Keith thinks, and is ashamed that the list of good qualities stops there. Still now he cannot say whether Shiro is kind or generous or even likeable. They don't leave the grounds, so he cannot say how Shiro treats others outside the manor, and he treats the servants with neither disgusted disdain or overt friendliness. 

Shiro doesn't hurt him, Keith attempts later, in the second month. He's never raised a hand or even his voice to him. In bed, there was a semblance of roughness, of something other than bland amusement or buttoned-up stiffness, but it’s over before he can really begin to think. 

_Look at him,_ he tells himself when they’re unclothed, _he's your husband, he's handsome enough,_ trying to focus on the things that would have tempted him in his early life—the long fingers, the square knuckles, the taut stomach, the muscled limbs. And Shiro _knows_ things, what to do, how to touch—Keith's dreamed of this before. But all he feels is a cold terror, a sense of relief when it's done. He's learned not to stiffen when Shiro's right hand touches him, but the chill sinks down to his bone. 

Perhaps if it was different If they'd met before Marmora Industries fell apart. But that goes nowhere; Marmora was his life. He lived and breathed the factories, played on the floors with bits of gears and pebbles, went from underfoot to actually helpful, knew almost no one outside its grounds. 

Maybe if he had to prepare and run the household, like he's heard of other spouses doing: cooking, cleaning, scheduling functions. But no one gives him any indication on what his duties are. He's not accustomed to giving orders, and the servants work with practiced efficiency: snapping sheets off the bed and dishes off the table, chopping vegetables and fruits and meats with heavy thuds, dumping splashes of water into the garden. They practically chase him away (or give him a cool look that’s as good as a slap) from lifting a finger. Shiro mentions it, too, at the dinner table, with a chuckle and a cluck that makes Keith feel like a spanked child who tried to turn the dials on the stovetop when his parents were out of the house. 

So his days are free. He detests hunting, his patch of garden dies, and walking around in a circle around the grounds isn't half as interesting as the first few times. Shiro has mentioned a horse exactly once and not again; Keith’s afraid to bring it up, but not for the reason most would think. It would be too tempting, to swing his leg over and disappear. 

It's picking through the library that he gets an idea. In one of the books is a wonderful illustrated edition of animals: hissing dragons in the desert, white beasts in the snow, yellow-eyed creatures with human-like grins in the jungle. He reads about a bird descended from the raptors, claws that require a man to wear thick leather, a sharp beak enticed by handheld raw meat and gentle words, wings that can fly faster than any car or train, tiny black eyes that can spot a mouse for miles from the sky. He can feel feathers rigid but soft against his face, the slightest and curious peck in his hair, chattily chirping in his ear. 

He wants someone to be with. Someone who doesn’t need anything but patience and kindness from him. No favors, no connections, no stones around his neck. Something to care for, or about. 

It’s at dinner, with forks he’s learning to master and food he’s beginning to stomach better, that he asks. Shiro’s always giving Keith things: a silver brooch with a stone that's a brilliant purple, several rings, a rainbow of handkerchiefs, a gold-leaf fountain pen. Keith never knows what to do with them, has never asked for anything before. 

"A falcon," he repeats. "That's what I want. To train it, to—"

"To hunt?" Shiro asks, raising his eyebrows. "You don't like to hunt." 

"No," he says, Shiro’s reasoning shutting him out flat. "Just... Just as a companion, or something to do," he ventures weakly. 

His husband tilts his head. “Something to do? Are you bored here?”

It's the first time Shiro actually seems curious about him. 

"I'm here alone all the time," Keith says, encouraged. "And I'm not allowed off the grounds. So it would be nice to have duties to attend to." Shiro’s silent, so he goes on: "If I could visit Marmora—" 

Shiro doesn't quite pound his fist down on the table, but puts down his fork with a finality that makes Keith shiver. "You're my husband, Keith, and you stay with me."

"But..."

"You mentioned duties, and perhaps I've been remiss. I'll send inquiries for tutors tomorrow." 

That's not what he wants at all—the equivalent of opening a package and finding a dead animal, or a ring.

"I..." He begins, then looks at Shiro's face: not ridicule or indulgence or even anger. There’s a look Keith recognizes from the guests striding into the garage to find that the car they ordered from the catalogue is not as pictured after all. "That sounds good." 

"Excellent." Shiro picks his fork back up, raises it to his lips. "Now, how do you feel about sorbet for dessert?" 

He tries to love his husband. But the more he knows Shiro, he senses, there will be less and less to love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next time: Shiro decides to take a more vested (and educational) approach in Keith. Remember to subscribe to the series, not the individual fics!
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/annaofaza)


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